Chapter 1
Orson never took Tamsin outside.
The sentence had been anger speaking before judgment caught up with it.
Instead, he ordered two bodyguards to escort her into the formal sitting room and keep her there until his attorney arrived.
Nobody was to touch her.
Nobody was to threaten her.
Nobody was to let her near Mara.
Then Orson turned his entire attention back to his daughter.
Mara sat curled against one of the dining-room chairs, inhaler pouch pressed against her chest.
Her breathing had steadied, but her face was wet with tears.
“Daddy?”
“I’m here.”
“She took it.”
“I know.”
“I was breathing bad.”
“I know, sweetheart.”
Orson crouched until they were eye level.
“You did exactly what you were supposed to do.”
That mattered to him.
He did not want Mara remembering this night as the moment an adult convinced her that asking for help was shameful.
The family doctor was called to the estate.
Mara was examined privately and kept under observation for the rest of the evening.
The doctor was blunt with Orson afterward.
“Someone interfering with her prescribed emergency medication cannot happen again.”
“It won’t.”
“I mean structurally, Orson. Not because you’re angry tonight.”
He looked at her.
Dr. Rachel Keene had treated Bellori children for years and was one of the few people who used his first name without checking his expression afterward.
“She’s three,” Rachel continued. “Adults around her need to know that when she says breathing is difficult, the response is not debate.”
Orson nodded.
Then asked the question he had been avoiding.
“Could Tamsin really believe Mara was pretending?”
Rachel’s expression changed.
“Ask Tamsin.”
“You know something.”
“I know Tamsin has stronger opinions about childhood asthma than most people.”
“Why?”
Rachel looked toward the dining room.
“That isn’t my story to tell.”
Orson hated that answer.
But before he could press, Mara’s nanny approached carrying the small inhaler pouch.
“There’s something strange.”
She handed it to him.
Inside was Mara’s inhaler, a folded emergency instruction card, and a small plastic identification tag carrying Mara’s name.
Nothing threatening.
Nothing secret.
Yet Tamsin had stared at the pouch like she recognized something.
Orson turned it over.
On the back of the tag was the logo of the pediatric respiratory clinic Mara had attended since infancy.
A simple blue circle.
Nothing more.
Rachel saw it.
And immediately looked away.
That was the second reaction Orson noticed that night.
May you like
The first had been Tamsin’s.
Now the family doctor was doing the same thing.
